


You can't be real.

by bcwinchesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:20:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bcwinchesters/pseuds/bcwinchesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, Dean and Sam are on a hunt for a spirit that has been feeding off of people's emotions, draining them until they're just a shell. Someone always goes missing, appearing only in their loved ones dreams.<br/>This story involves Dean, Sam, Jo, Jess, Castiel, and sassy humans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You can't be real.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've written about the boys being on a hunt, so I apologize if it's a tad sloppy or seems rushed. There will be more chapters to this story! I tend to put little details in one chapter that carry over to the next in a big way, pay attention to those.

_"Dreams are like angels, they keep bad at bay..."_

"Dude, what the hell is this?" Dean smacked the the radio of his Impala, grumbling to himself. It was a crisp, cool day, with black clouds rolling in over the horizon. The wind whipped at the windows, tugging the steering wheel. "Damn it." He grumbled again, yanking it to the right to align himself.

Sam snickered, flipping through the archive works of Athens, Ohio. He glanced up briefly at Dean, giving him a lazy smirk. "Trouble with the weather?" He shook his head, licking his pointer finger briskly to separate crinkled papers. "I swear, it's like this town never touched their own archives. Were they never curious of what happened here?" He furrowed his brows, his mouth creasing into a tight line. They had been called on a 'quick' hunt by a friend of a friend; apparently, some ghost was jerking some families around. Nothing the Winchesters couldn't handle.

Dean cocked an eyebrow, the Impala inching to a slow stop at a red light. "You care too much dude, it's just some bitch ghost. Salt and burn baby, salt and burn." He chuckled, taking a long swig of the fountain pop they'd purchased at a cheap Marathon gas station. 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Not just some ghost. This ghost - er, spirit - is taking on the _form_ of deceased people. Survivors reported seeing their deceased loved ones just as they'd remembered them..." Nothing made sense about this case, and to Sam, that was terrifying. 

"Honestly, the way they described it, it's like the thing dug into their minds, digging deep into repressed memories to scoop out deceased loved ones. Like it's finding who they miss the most, and using it against them. One girl saw her dad." Dean shrugged, huffing at Sam.

"So?"

_"So,"_ Sam began, "Her dad died when she was two. She's seventeen now. She wouldn't even remember what he looked like, besides pictures. But she could describe his scent - cigars, motor oil, and fresh paint. He knew who she was dating, her friends, her school routine... He knew everything. How could he know that if he's been dead for fifteen years?" Sam smirked, swatting Dean's hands away as he reached for the archive papers. "So what are you hoping to find in here?" Dean questioned, smacking his lips to a cheap gas station burger. 

Honestly? Sam had no idea. He didn't have a clue. If this thing were a shifter, there'd be no survivors. They're not zombies, considering they're not actually eating anyone. Draining their emotions, emptying them of everything they've ever felt and kidnapping, that was something entirely new to the both of them. Sam huffed, sifting through the papers again. Anything was better than nothing at all.

\-------

They pulled up to tan one-story house with a freshly cut lawn, lined with rose bushes. A cracked sidewalk traced with little garden gnomes led up to a large chestnut door, Victorian styled. "I fucking hate gnomes." Dean groaned, eyeing one of them suspiciously. Sam chuckled, running a hand down his smooth grey suit. He worked out crinkles, watching Dean interrogate the gnomes.

"They're just gnomes."

"They're creepy gnomes."

Dean huffed, moving away from the creepy gnomes to stand alongside Sam. Their false FBI badges hugged their back pockets, burning like a hot piece of metal. Something about being here, it felt... wrong. Like they should just turn around and forget the entire thing.

Sam moved to say something, Dean cutting him off. "I know, I feel it too." Sam gave a small sigh of relief, momentarily feeling relaxed. They started up the crippled sidewalk, stepping up onto the porch. A large brass handle hung in the middle of the door, surprisingly menacing. "Eh.. you knock." Dean stepped backwards, eyeing Sam. This whole place just put off strange vibes, like walking through a graveyard in the fog. 

The brass handle hit hard against the old, splintered wood of the door. This house was old, _very_ old, and very creepy. A small woman, possibly in her forties, tugged the large door open, peaking out of a small crack. "Can I help you?" Her voice was small and simple, like a mouse that had been trapped. She eyed Dean, glancing between him and Sam. Sam cleared his throat, pulling out the fake FBI badge. "I'm Detective Richards, this is my partner... Detective Richards. No relationship." He shot a small glare at Dean. That idiot should have known to make two different badges, with two different names. _Pick your battles, Sam._ He sighed, smiling at the woman. "We just want to ask a few questions about your daughter, and your missing daughter." He stared at her, studying her features.

She couldn't have been older than forty-two, maybe forty-three, yet she looked so... _weak._ She looked like she'd been fighting a hard battle for so long, it started to weather her down and rip her up from the inside. Her face was coated in wrinkles, worry lines creasing her forehead. Her hands were small and brittle, trembling as they held onto the large door. "Alright." She breathed, turning swiftly away. Dean glanced at Sam, shrugging as the two entered the house.

A humble home; soft yellow wallpaper lining a large living room, accented with oak wooden flooring that had recently been polished. The furniture seemed outdated, floral patterns splattering one corner of a sofa to the other. A small pink loveseat sat opposite, with a white coffee table splitting the two. It smelled old, could something smell old? Sam let out a small cough, adjusting his tie. This whole place made him uncomfortable, and from the way Dean was acting, he felt the same. 

The woman sat on the loveseat, motioning for the boys to sit opposite on the couch. They eased themselves down, glancing about the room. "You have a lot of antique items." Sam noted, glancing at the small woman. "They were my husband's hobby. My oldest daughter would sometimes say it feels like her father would visit because of them." She let out a small laugh, weak and broken. It actually hurt Sam's heart to hear such a laugh. 

Dean cocked his head, staring at the woman. "Mrs, uh, Robertson is it?" He talked smoothly, choking back any emotion he felt for this poor woman. "Yes?" She spoke softly, folding her legs over one another. "We're here about your daughters. We understand one has gone missing?" Sam stared at him, blinking rapidly. Was he honestly going to skip right over the fact that she just said, her husband was obsessed with these antiques? That her daughter felt like he would come back and visit because of them? He made a small choking nose, clearing his throat. "Would you like some water?" Mrs. Robertson offered a gentle smile, moving to stand up.

"No thank you, I'm fine." He glared at Dean. If Dean had noticed, he didn't appear to care. "So, what happened? What are the details?" Dean waltzed right onto her sore spot, stabbing it with a pencil. _You jackass._ Sam bit his lip, shaking his head. The woman was startled at first, but slowly came forward.

"It was last week... my oldest, Brittany, was here alone. She had dropped my youngest, Sierra, off at soccer practice. I had called her on the phone checking on her, letting her know I was going to the store and that I would be late..." She trailed off, and Sam could tell she was fighting a fit of tears. She cleared her throat, continuing. "She said that was fine, she was just hanging out in her room. I reminded her to pick up Sierra by 5 o'clock, and I would be home around 6." She paused, biting her lip. She seemed oddly nervous and fidgety. "When I got home, Sierra was sitting on the porch swing. She said, _"I'd been calling her for an hour, my coach dropped me off! Where is she? I thought she was supposed to be home!"_ She was very upset, and I didn't understand at first. Brittany told me she would be home all evening. When I unlocked the door, we started calling for her. When I didn't get an answer, I panicked, and called the police. Before they showed up..." She trailed off, glancing at them. Sam sensed her nervousness, urging her that it's okay. She bit her lip, nodding. "Sierra and I both saw him. Their father." She trembled, holding back sobs. "He approached us both, rubbing our cheeks with his hand... but..." She buried her head in her hands, small sobs choking her. 

"It's alright, take your time. " Sam attempted to soothe her, glancing at Dean.

She looked back up at them. "He'd been dead for fifteen years. He died when Brittany was two. I was pregnant with Sierra. Sierra had been telling me lately she'd been having weird dreams, dreams about Brittany disappearing, about her dad..." She stopped, glancing at the boys. "I didn't listen to her. I should have listened. Before he, my _dead_ husband vanished, he told me that Brittany was safe. But... but, when he touched my cheek it just..." She paused, pawing for the words. "It felt like he sucked the life out of me. But I couldn't stop him, he's my husband, you know? I couldn't stop him. When he touched me, it was like I was releasing everything bad in the world onto him. Like it was pouring out of my skin and seeping into him. Except it didn't stop with sadness. It took away the joy. The joy of getting married. The joy of my girls being born. The joy of my promotion, of Brittany getting accepted to her dream college, of Sierra making the junior varsity soccer team.. It sucked it all away. Every last drop until I felt like I was nothing, had nothing, did nothing. Just... nothing." The woman was full on crying now, excusing herself to the restroom.

"Well, that would explain why she looks like that. A sack of skin with nothing inside but bones and blood." Dean shrugged, leaning back against the small couch.

Sam glared at him. "You're an ass, you know that?" 

Dean rolled his eyes, watching Sam. "You care too much sometimes, Sammy."

"That's not true. You can never care too much."

A small voice echoed behind the doorway, a petite blonde girl peaking out. Sam tilted his head. "Are you Sierra?" The girl nodded, stepping forward only slightly. "Mom told me not to talk to cops, but you're not cops." She eyed them, a mixture of fear and anguish washing over her.

Dean stood up, staring the girl down. "How do you know that?"

The girl bit her lip, folding her arms over her chest. She seemed nervous, frightened, angry, and concerned all at once. She'd end up looking like her mother if she didn't stop that.

"It's alright, you can talk to us." Sam pleaded, stepping in front of Dean. "We're here to help."

The girl watched Sam for a moment, glancing around the corner to check for her mother. "Brittany told me. She came to me in a dream, telling me she'd be back soon. Not to worry about her. That dad was strong enough now to take care of her for a while." The girl shrugged, eyeing Dean and Sam.

The boys exchanged glances, worry crossing both of their faces. "That's definitely something." Dean murmured, turning to look at Sam. Sam stayed silent, scratching his head. His heart pounded in his chest, palms dampening over sweat. "Sam?" Dean nudged him, watching him carefully.

"I don't know, Dean. But... a few nights ago, before all of this, Jess appeared to me in a dream. She told me she'd be able to take care of me soon. Not to worry."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"We've got some work to do." Dean huffed, heading for the door.


End file.
